fancy ball. I forget the title of the charity, but I remember that
every lady who sold more than ten tickets received an autograph
letter of thanks from the Duchess who was the president. The tickets
were twelve and sixpence each and included light refreshments and a
very substantial supper. One presumes the odd sixpence reached the
poor--or at least the noisier portion of them.

"A little decolletee, isn't it, my dear?" suggested a lady friend, as
the charitable dancer entered the drawing-room.

"Perhaps it is--a little," she admitted, "but we all of us ought to
do all we can for the Cause. Don't you think so, dear?"

Really, seeing the amount we give in charity, the wonder is there are
any poor left. It is a comfort that there are. What should we do
without them? Our fur-clad little girls! our jolly, red-faced
squires! we should never know how good they were, but for the poor?
Without the poor how could we be virtuous? We should have to go
about giving to each other. And friends expect such expensive
presents, while a shilling here and there among the poor brings to us
all the sensations of a good Samaritan. Providence has been very
thoughtful in providing us with poor.

Dear Lady Bountiful! does it not ever occur to you to thank God for
the poor? The clean, grateful poor, who bob their heads and curtsey
and assure you that heaven is going to repay you a thousandfold. One
does hope you will not be disappointed.

An East-End curate once told me, with a twinkle in his eye, of a
smart lady who called upon him in her carriage, and insisted on his